A Rooted Sorrow
by Maddie
Summary: H/C with Harper as central character


Title: A Rooted Sorrow  
By: Maddie  
Rating/Warnings: Mature themes, language, violence. Sexual situations but no graphic sex. You were warned!  
Summary: Don't want to spoil anything. Harper is the central character.   
  
Disclaimer: Tribune owns them all...the ship, the crew and the universe, but...the plot belongs to me as do all original characters.   
  
Feedback: Always welcome. But if it's negative, please make sure it is also constructive.  
  
Acknowledgements: I would like to express my deepest thanks to my Beta readers, Tracy, Richel and Jill. I truly appreciate the time and effort you put into reading, and rereading this story. A special thanks to Richel for suggesting the title and the quotation from which it originated and for finding all the lost ''''''''. Tracy, your plot suggestions truly helped round out the rough edges of this story and helped me to see exactly what was needed when I couldn't quite see it myself. And to Jill for praise and pats on the back.   
  
Now....on to the story. I hope you like it.  
  
  
  
A ROOTED SORROW  
  
  
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd,  
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,  
Raze out the written troubles of the brain,  
And with some sweet oblivious antidote  
Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff  
Which weighs upon the heart?  
{MACBETH Act 5, scene 3}  
  
  
  
Mental math. She hated mental math, but was glad her father had made her practice when she was a child. She quickly did the conversion changing the local currency into one she was accustomed to dealing with. Cheap, she thought. She could not believe her luck. Carefully keeping her features neutral she leaned over the counter and presented her final offer.   
  
"580 draconi. Final."   
  
She waited for the shopkeeper to nod yes or no. Silently she willed him to say yes. After all, he was making far more than he ever thought he would and she was getting what she wanted dirt cheap. For that matter, she would probably pay more for dirt.   
  
"Done." The shopkeeper's face split in a totally toothless grimace that Beka Valentine could only interpret as a smile.   
  
Yes, Beka thought, I love to barter. Harper, the self-anointed king of scrounge, was not going to believe this one. She casually withdrew the correct amount from the money pouch slung at her side. The shopkeeper scooped the coins into his hand as though they would disappear if he left them on the counter a moment longer than necessary. Bowing repeatedly, he reached over the shop window and took down the string of CD's hanging there. They glimmered as light from the late afternoon sun refracted from their surfaces in a glorious riot of rainbows. There were 25, all titles Beka had never seen. Even if only one were playable her half hour of intense haggling would not have been wasted time.   
  
Grinning to herself she took the carefully wrapped package. This guy obviously did not know what he had hanging in his shop. He had told her they were used to scare predators from the garden. She sincerely hoped he found more such 'garden implements.'  
  
Stepping into the dusty street her rumbling stomach reminded her she hadn't eaten. Harper and Trance had disappeared down the narrow street to the left. Beka had promised to find them to share a meal. They've probably eaten by now, she thought, as she turned left and began to weave her way through the crowd.  
  
From the many stalls crammed along the way wafted odors both tempting and stomach turning. Beka was so hungry and in such a good humor that sampling the local cuisine became the next challenge. Stopping at a tiny shop, she was about to purchase an incredibly pungent pastry when she heard a subtle change in the crowd around her. It was as if they all turned at some subliminal signal. Heads nodded down the road, and a murmur rippled through the beings packed along the street. The sound set the fine hairs at the nape of Beka's neck on end. Nothing outward had happened and yet that hushed sound carried an ominous threat.   
  
Forgetting her food, Beka began to push her way though the pack of humans and other sentients that jammed the end of the street. She could not explain why, but she had the sudden overpowering sense that whatever trouble lay ahead involved her friends. As she forced her way to the next alley, her worst fears were suddenly confirmed. A massive human, easily taller and broader than Tyr, stood in the intersection. Effortlessly held in his arms, her feet dangling two feet off the ground, was Trance Gemini.   
  
Beka never hesitated. Shoving through the press of humanity, she drove the heel of her hand full force into the side of the man's face. He reacted as if a fly had landed on his cheek shaking off the blow. "Let her go, you bastard," Beka commanded, stepping back and drawing her weapon.   
  
"Beka, not me," Trance said doing her best to wiggle free. "Harper. You have to help Harper."   
  
"Trance?" Beka was torn between the danger she saw and the threat Trance alluded to.   
  
"Go, Beka. Help Harper. I'm okay. They don't want me."   
  
Trance continued to struggle as Beka bulled her way through the crowd to find Harper in the grip of two humanoids the size of the one holding Trance. The engineer fought their hold, but was completely outclassed by his opponents. As Beka watched his captors effortlessly kicked his legs out from under him and forced him to his knees, holding him in place with an iron grip. Without hesitation Beka pushed to the front of the crowd and drew her weapon and aimed at the closest goon, but before she could pull the trigger she was body slammed from the side, knocking her into the watchers at the edge of the crowd. Enormous arms wrapped around her and lifted her to her feet. She was quite effectively immobilized. Before she could clear her head and comprehend what was happening Trance and her captor were beside her.   
  
"Trance," Beka said "what the hell is going on?"  
  
"I don't know," Trance answered. "Someone doesn't like Harper."  
  
"On the contrary," said a harsh voice. Beka looked right to see a tall human pushing his way through the watchers. "We liked Harper enough to pay a pretty price for him."  
  
Beka turned toward her engineer. He had frozen in the grip of his captors, all color leeching from his fair face. Beka expected a cocky comment, a snide crack, anything except paralyzed silence from her normally verbal crewman.   
  
"Harper, Harper, Harper," said the human. His voice was coarse, like his pockmarked skin. Though slightly shorter than his henchman, he was built with granite solidity and moved with an animal grace that emphasized his strength. "You have a poor way of showing your gratitude, Seamus. It really is fortunate for me that I've finally run across you." He rasped the words in a husky baritone that oozed seduction, promised vengeance, and sent a chill shivering down Beka's spine.   
  
"What is going on?" Beka demanded.   
  
The human turned to Beka a cruel smile touching his rough features. "Why, Harper, I'm amazed. You've acquired a harem."  
  
"Harem?" Beka virtually spat the word.   
  
"Perhaps not. Allow me to introduce myself." He made a short, mockingly courtly bow from the waist. "Those who know me well call me Ramos DeGarres." Turning towards Harper, his face turned to stone. "Those I've purchased, call me master."  
  
"Purchased?" Beka asked, incredulity obvious in her tone.   
  
"Come, come, young lady. Anyone adventurous enough to be this far out in the less than tame universe should not be not naive enough to believe that one human cannot own another. I own Seamus Harper. He sold himself to me body and soul. In return for passage from Earth, he was to be my engineer. At my considerable expense, he was fitted with a sub neural implant to facilitate his function. And at the first opportunity, he ran." DeGarres' tone became sinister. "Now that I have you back, you will have to be punished for running away, Seamus."  
  
Beka did not believe Harper could possibly become paler, but a look of dread bleached the last color from his face. Still she felt a swell of pride as Harper shook his head defiantly.   
  
DeGarres reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny pulsing electronic device. He casually tossed it into the air and caught it. "Pain inducer," he said to Beka, as though he was describing some intriguing new toy. "The neural implant serves more than one function. Many of my colleagues find this an effective way to control recalcitrant property." DeGarres took one step closer to Harper paused dramatically then pocketed the tiny device. "I prefer a more hands-on approach." Twisting his fingers into Harper's unruly hair he forced his head backward so the undersized engineer was not only compelled to kneel, but to look upward at his towering captor. "Apparently, you haven't apprised your friends of your former status. I'm sure you've also neglected to tell them what the punishment for disobedience is. Perhaps they need a quick lesson." Nodding at his henchman, DeGarres stepped back again. Pulling Harper to his feet, his massive guards, quickly and efficiently stripped the colorful outer shirt from his slight frame. Then the one on his left produced a wickedly curved blade.   
  
"No," Harper choked out struggling ineffectively against their grip. "Please don't..."  
  
"What's the matter, Seamus? Ashamed?" DeGarres taunted. Then he nodded and the guard grabbed the front of Harper's tee shirt, the knife whispered through the thin fabric, and in seconds the shredded remains dangled from his waist. They turned the young man once around, like hunters displaying captured quarry. Harper stumbled, but was held upright by unforgiving hands.   
  
"Oh, God," Beka whispered. "Oh, God, Harper..."  
  
But Harper had turned away from her. All fight leaving him as he hung his head in shame, crimson coloring his face, his fists tightly clenched at his sides.   
  
"I didn't know," Beka said, to no one. She tried not to stare, not wanting to burden her young friend with her pity, but his body bore the reminders of a lifetime of struggle and degradation. Until now, she could only speculated on what Harper's life might have been like before she picked him up on Zarana 4, could only begin to imagine what emotions lay hidden beneath his cocky exterior. She had not even begun to consider the physical consequences. She remembered his reticence about being seen even partially unclothed, the ever-present tee shirt even when temperatures soared over 100 degrees and everyone else had stripped to the bare necessities. Now she understood. Hidden beneath the layers of attitude and fabric, criss-crossing his back and chest, was a network of scars, some fine and obviously old, others still livid. She did not want to think of how many beatings he had endured to create the tracery of welts that could only come from years of deliberate abuse. She could only imagine how many of those scars had come from the monster standing before her now.   
  
"I see you are perceptive enough to understand." DeGarres said quietly to Beka. He had begun to unfasten the heavy leather belt at his waist. "We all have our preferred methods of discipline. This is mine." He emphasized his statement by cracking the belt into the palm of his hand. Harper flinched at the sharp retort of leather on flesh.   
  
"No," Beka said. "You filthy son of a bitch, if I get my hands on you--"  
  
"You will what? Harper is mine. Bought and paid for. I have the bill of sale and the contract. A contract he violated when he ran away. He's mine. He will go back to my ship with me. He will face the consequences of his actions and continue in his service to me. He knows what is expected of him and what price he will pay for disobedience. You and your purple friend will be released to go about your business, but no interference in mine will be tolerated." Nodding to his henchmen he added, "Take him to our lodgings, then take these two to a point in the city that is farthest from it."  
  
*****  
  
"Contract?" Dylan repeated.   
  
Although Beka had not known him long enough to be able to predict how he would react in all situations, she knew Dylan well enough to know he would spare nothing to get Harper back. She just needed to know how. As he was so fond of telling her, he always had a plan. Right now he was pacing the foredeck, his face grim.   
  
"Harper was a member of your crew and you knew nothing about this?" He asked for the second time.   
  
"I knew as much about him as you knew about us," Beka shot back, angered by Dylan's attitude. "You were more than willing to accept us as your new crew members. You had no idea where we were coming from. Sometimes you just have to go on gut instinct, and my instinct told me Harper was the person I needed to keep the Eureka Maru spaceworthy. He never proved me wrong. You know that."  
  
Dylan stopped pacing and turned to face her. "I apologize," he said, nodding at her in a gesture of concession. "I'm just concerned that this contract is something we won't be able to break. Not in this system."  
  
"Who's talking about breaking anything," Beka replied, more sharply than she intended. Taking a deep breath she continued in a calmer voice. "Except maybe DeGarres' face. I was thinking more in terms of a rescue operation."  
  
"'No one beats humans for downright nastiness,'" said a third voice.  
  
Beka and Dylan both turned to see Trance standing in the hatchway. Intent on their own conversation neither had heard her enter the room.   
  
"What do you mean?" Dylan asked.   
  
Trance looked at her nervously twisting fingers. "Something Harper told me. He said that the Neitzscheans and the Magog were invaders, and did terrible things to those exiled on Earth. But he said, 'nothing beats a human for downright nastiness.' DeGarres is a human."  
  
Neither Dylan nor Beka responded. But Beka saw in her mind the scars Harper could no longer hide.   
  
"I thought this might help find him," Trance held out her hand, in it was a key card.  
  
Dylan took the thin plastic chip. "How?" he asked.   
  
"I took this from the pocket of the man who was holding me," Trance said simply. "I think it might be where they were taking Harper."  
  
Suddenly Beka grinned. "Good job. This is just the information we needed. Now we have a place to start and need to get down there before they move off world."  
  
Trance continued to shift restlessly as though no amount of haste would satisfy her need to rescue her friend.   
  
"Trance," said Beka trying to express more confidence than she felt. "We are going to get Harper back. Before any harm comes to him."  
  
"It may already be too late," Trance said softly.  
  
Beka wanted to reassure her alien companion, but the words of comfort would not come. She, too, was afraid it was already too late. It may have been too late years before any of them knew Seamus Harper existed.   
  
*****  
  
Crammed between his two sweaty guard dogs in the back of a land vehicle, Seamus Zelazny Harper, boy genius, engineer extraordinaire of the Commonwealth Starship Andromeda Ascendant wondered how he had managed to screw up his life up again. DeGarres' men had hustled him from the open market place, jammed him into the back of the waiting ground car, then whisked him away, presumably to DeGarres' accommodations planetside. The last he had seen of Beka and Trance was the latter's tail furiously beating her captor's back as she was carried in the opposite direction from him. He did not even have the good sense to try the frying pan first, he just landed both feet first, right in the fire. He had succeeded in messing up badly, again, and only because he thought he was smarter than he was. But that was always his downfall. Thinking he was smarter than he was. Thinking he was a freaking genius.   
  
Ten years ago, he had thought Ramos DeGarres was his ticket off the Hellhole he had come to know as Earth. Blindly, he had agreed to DeGarres' terms certain he could dazzle his new 'employer' with is engineering brilliance, and somehow con him into shortening the length of his commitment. Desperate to leave Earth and its nightmares behind, he endured the agony of the cranial implant and for a few weeks, it seemed he had made the right choice. When he first arrived aboard the DeGarres' ship, the Dark Sister he had wondered about the looks he received from the other crew members particularly when his mouth got the better of him.   
  
It was only a matter of time before he made his first mistake and found out what the looks meant. Feeling cocky, he had questioned DeGarres' order to modify one of the ship's weapons systems. He had learned two things from that encounter. First, if you disagreed with DeGarres, you paid the penalty, and second, he was too weak to tolerate more than a limited number of strokes from DeGarres' belt, before he was overwhelmed by the pain. The infection that followed was another story. Some microbe too insignificant to affect the average human had nearly destroyed him. It was weeks before he recovered completely much to the displeasure of his employer. He paid for his insolence more than once in the four years that followed. But he never forgot his original desire to beat DeGarres at his own game and terminate their agreement.   
  
When he thought the time and circumstances were right, he ran. He spent the next year hiding, living from hand to mouth, and hoping DeGarres would forget he existed. When Beka Valentine "found" him on Zarana 4, and asked him to join her crew he was afraid to hope that he might have finally found a place where he was accepted. He didn't think his life could get any better. But if joining Beka on the Eureka Maru had been hope for a better life, then hope became a reality beyond wildest imagining when Dylan offered them a berth on the Andromeda Ascendant. Sailing that ship, tending her needs, being the one person they all depended upon to keep her in perfect condition, was a life and responsibility he could never have imagined as a dirty faced youth on Earth.   
  
Unfortunately, he had once again become too comfortable too quickly. He had let down his guard and foolishly thought that DeGarres, and his life on the Dark Sister, like his life on Earth, was a part of the past. Not that either could ever be completely forgotten. Every time he saw his own body reflected in a mirror he was reminded that his past would always be with him. But he forgot the danger still existed and assumed he was safe within Andromeda's sheltering bulkheads. All of that had ended with a chance encounter in an outdoor bistro, on a forgotten world in an obscure corner of the universe. All that ended because he dropped his guard, and Ramos DeGarres didn't. As Harper also knew, but chose to ignore, DeGarres never forgot.   
  
Their vehicle slowed to a halt before the isolated wing of what might once have been a grand hotel. His guards disembarked, then literally dragged him from the vehicle. Each held one of his arms, which Harper realized was serious overkill. One guard would have done the job easily.   
  
"C'mon, guys," Harper tried vainly to distract the men as they pushed him down a long, thickly carpeted hallway. "There's got to be a better way than this. I'm sure we can arrange a trade. How about a nice analog exercise system...takes the guesswork out of building muscle. Or a maybe something a bit more cerebral...I'm sure I could rig whatever you need. I just need to get back to my ship, pick up a few parts, a couple of tools...." He was wasting his breath. They moved quickly down the corridor, to a single door at the end of the hallway. Opening the door, the guards roughly pushed him through.   
  
Harper landed with bone jarring force against an ornately decorated wall. He was stunned for a moment then all of his instinct for survival pushed him to his feet. His gut told him that once the outside door closed, he would be hopelessly trapped. Feinting high then dropping and rolling neatly at his opponent's feet he flew at his captor, kicking upward towards his groin. An old street fighter's tactic, considered base by many 'true warriors', the move had been taught to him by an older boy who had taken pity on him when he was little more than a scrawny teen. Harper had no illusions about his chances. He was no match for DeGarres' henchmen. Hell, he was no match for DeGarres. He was barely a match for Trance in a snit. Oh, he could fight. You didn't grow up on Earth and not learn to fight. He just rarely won a physical encounter. He had always relied on cunning and trickery to protect him, preferring to outthink his enemies.  
  
This time was no different than any time in the past. DeGarres' men had let him go deliberately and now they casually dodged his attempts to fight back, toying with him as a well-fed cat toys with its captured prey, laughing as they did. They were still laughing when DeGarres entered the room. The man Harper had attempted to kick, scooped him up, restraining him before he had a chance to realize resistance was hopeless.   
  
"Tie him," DeGarres ordered, then turned his back to strip off his black gloves and upper body armor.   
  
Harper's hands were tightly bound in front of him with a short piece of thin metallic cord as a familiar sense of helpless panic surged through him. He was breathing heavily from his exertion, but he quickly surveyed his surroundings looking for any opening, any chance to escape. They were in a sumptuously appointed room, large enough to accommodate a lounge area at one end and a bar at the other. Through arching double doors to the left he saw a large bedroom, the center of which was an enormous bed, constructed of a heavy, intricately twisted gilt frame. He tried to focus his attention anywhere but the bed. Years ago, while on DeGarres' ship he had attempted to avoid DeGarres' attention. He was only partially successful, garnering more than one beating for having failed to perform his duties to DeGarres' satisfaction. At that he had considered himself luckier than most. He had heard rumors about other young men who had been taken to DeGarres' quarters. A fate he had made sure he never suffered.  
  
"On the bed."   
  
DeGarres' three-word-order made Harper's blood run cold   
  
"Make sure he's secure." DeGarres spoke again as he poured himself a drink.   
  
His captors had their hands full as they dragged Harper to the bed, threw him face down onto its cushioned surface, then swiftly secured his already bound hands to the corner of the headboard. 'This can't be happening to me,' he thought desperately as he pulled himself to his knees, making himself into as compact and invisible a ball as possible.   
  
Looking over his shoulder as he heard DeGarres behind him, heard the swish of leather being withdrawn from leather, heard the sharp crack of that same leather experimentally strike DeGarres' palm. DeGarres disappeared from his view despite his twisting to keep him in sight. Harper felt the bed give, heard the soft creak of the springs as DeGarres' weight was added to his own, felt the warmth of DeGarres' breath against the side of his face. He had been drinking and Harper could smell the tang of alcohol mixed with the stench of his own fear. One heavily muscled arm snaked around Harper's waist and DeGarres' hand ran over the skin of his chest tracing the line of a particularly prominent scar, coming to rest on his abdomen above the waist of his trousers. Harper froze. He felt chilled, but the hand on his stomach was hot, unwanted. DeGarres drew him possessively closer until his body was against that of the larger man. With that simple gesture Ramos DeGarres made it perfectly clear that he was in complete control and that he expected total submission. They remained in that position for only the briefest moment, but for Seamus Harper it seemed an eternity. He wanted to say something; anything, but for once, his wit and his sarcastic tongue failed him.  
  
"Time to pay the piper, Seamus," DeGarres whispered in his ear.   
  
Harper felt the older man step off the bed, and for one wild moment he felt relief. His relief lasted only seconds. At an unspoken signal, DeGarres' henchmen were on him again, knocking his knees out from under him, stretching him flat, and pinning him down, his already scarred back exposed and unprotected. Harper tried to pull away, to sink so low into the mattress that he would be an unrecognizable part of the bed, out of harm's way. But he was held fast by the same immovable strength that had dominated him since DeGarres had captured him in the market. A wash of helplessness poured over him, and he bit his lip to hold back his emotion. 'No, no, no,' he thought bitterly, 'this was never supposed to happen again.'   
  
His muscles tensed in anticipation as time slowed to a crawl. He had survived before, and he would survive again. But no amount of experience or anticipation could prepare him for the force of the first blow. He heard the swish of the belt through the air, a split second before it fell with a nerve-shattering crack across his back. Pain exploded, and he cried out despite his determination to remain silent. God, it hurt. It hurt. DeGarres was an expert at making it hurt.   
  
Before he could catch an inward breath the second blow landed. Harper writhed under the force of it. A third blow and his body bucked desperately against the hands and bonds that held him immobile. The fourth and fifth landed sharp and hard across the rising welts. Agony burned across his back like acid fire. The sixth and seventh blows were followed by an eerie silence punctuated by his own harsh breathing. 'How many more?' he thought blindly. It was his only coherent thought. How much must he endure before it was over? 'Let it end.' His mind beat out the hopeless mantra. 'Let it end. Let it end.' Despite his efforts to remain silent, a ragged sob escaped him. Terrified by his own show of weakness and what it might inspire DeGarres to do next, he fought to hold back his moans. His unspoken fear was quickly answered by another stroke of the belt, followed by DeGarres' derisive laughter.   
  
"How many this time, Seamus? Up for ten? You were never good for much more than that before you passed out on me. Or maybe we should stop at eight. That way you will literally be up for other activities."  
  
"No." The single word was all Harper could manage. And he wasn't sure exactly what he meant. No to the ten, or no to the other activities, or just no to his own wretched bad luck.   
  
Uttered in desperation the word hung in the air as Harper waited, completely at DeGarres' mercy. In the end the hands holding him let him go, and another hand grabbed the waistband of his trousers, lifted him bodily from the bed, and dumped him on the floor, his hands still bound to the head board. He landed on his knees, like a small child kneeling down to say his bed time prayers. But he knew no prayers for salvation would release him from this wretched fate. Gathering his breath, he looked up. DeGarres stood beside him casually wiping the black leather of his belt on a white linen cloth. Harper's world became the all-consuming pain that turned his back into a field of fire. Even the slightest movement pulled and stretched abused flesh. Burying his face in the bed linen Harper stifled a moan.   
  
Unaware of how long he hunkered next to the bed engulfed in his own misery, Harper roused when he heard the clink of glass against glass. DeGarres was pouring himself another drink. Harper licked his lips. He was wretchedly thirsty and knew he would get neither food nor drink until DeGarres decided he deserved it. Quietly, careful to move as little as possible, he shifted his position, hoping he would not attract any more of his captor's attention. He eased the weight off his wrists, which were rubbed raw from the cords that bound them. His hands were numb, as were his legs from kneeling. Wishing his back were numb as well, Harper did his best to make himself comfortable and as inconspicuous as he could.   
  
DeGarres had sprawled in a large chair, drink in hand apparently oblivious to the man he had just beaten. The larger human's casual demeanor only made Harper's position more untenable. As far as DeGarres was concerned, Seamus Zelazny Harper was less than the dirt he picked from the soles of his boots, and that attitude was more degrading than any physical assault. Resting his head against the side of the bed once more, Harper tried to empty his mind. He did not want to think of what DeGarres might want to do next.   
  
Harper looked up at the sound of rustling fabric. DeGarres stood beside the bed, swaying drunkenly and reeking of liquor. His naked, upper body glistened with a fine sheen of sweat. Absently, Harper wondered if Tyr could take this man in a one on one confrontation. Then as quickly wondered if Tyr would even bother to try to save the likes of him  
  
Harper felt DeGarres' eyes on him. Saw a small sneer of lust curl his thin lips. Watching as the man slowly stripped, Harper's heart lurched into his throat. Unarmed, and bound, he did not stand a chance against a man as physically well trained and ruthless as DeGarres. DeGarres stepped closer, and Harper pulled back, but there was no where to withdraw too, so he took one deep breath and met DeGarres' gaze.   
  
"Not tonight, I have a headache, to say nothing of a back ache," Harper cracked, then braced himself for the blow he knew would follow.   
  
To his surprise DeGarres laughed. "You always were the cocky one, Seamus. I liked that. I would have been far less tolerant of your attitude, if it hadn't intrigued me so." Reaching down, DeGarres ruffled Harper's hair in an almost affectionate gesture, before flopping onto the bed. Within minutes, Harper heard the change in DeGarres' breathing, as the pattern became that of deep sleep. Sighing, Harper knew he had been granted a brief but temporary reprieve   
  
*****  
  
Sometime during the interminable night Harper finally succumbed to sleep. He awoke to a chorus of physical complaints not least of which was the pain from his back. It had changed he noted absently. Instead of just pain, he now felt flushed warmth. It was a feeling he knew only too well, and it signaled the onset of infection.   
  
"Awake?" DeGarres sat once again in the chair in which he'd lounged the night before. Only now he looked freshly bathed, which only reminded Harper that he was in dire need of a shower and to tend to other personal needs.   
  
"I need to go."  
  
"Go? You will not be going anywhere."  
  
"No, I need to piss."  
  
"You should have said that."   
  
"I just did."   
  
The man snapped his fingers and one of the steroid enhanced bodyguards from the night before appeared. DeGarres waved his hand in Harper's general direction and said, "Take care of it."  
  
*****  
  
Ramos DeGarres watched his man escort Seamus Harper to the bathing facility and a small smile touched his lips. When the young human had disappeared from the Dark Sister, DeGarres had been furious. Not only had Harper escaped with an extremely expensive piece of technology implanted in his head, he had had the nerve to disable two of the Dark Sister's engines, and her slipstream drive before he ran. Disabling his ship had caused him considerable embarrassment, and DeGarres did not take embarrassment well. Their chance encounter on this backwater planet had been more than serendipitous. This was one of the few worlds in the inhabited systems where slavery had always been legal and there would be no contention when he claimed Harper. He did, after all, still have the contract Harper had signed years ago. Still valid until the engineer worked out the remaining time left on the original agreement.   
  
At first DeGarres had stormed through all the systems he thought Harper could hide in, searching ruthlessly. But as time passed, the anger had become cold calculation. When no information led to the location of the young human DeGarres was almost ready to accept that he had been bested, until yesterday when Harper's luck ran out.  
  
Pouring himself a drink, DeGarres touched the surveillance screen set behind the bar. As the picture flickered to life, DeGarres smiled again. Yes, he thought, it had all been worthwhile. He would have his vengeance and he would have his errant engineer back. He turned the screen to face his chair and settled in to watch.   
  
DeGarres stared intently as Harper slowly undressed. The young man seemed reluctant to strip in front of another man. DeGarres found that difficult to understand. Granted Harper was small, at least a foot shorter than DeGarres or his bodyguards, but not unattractive. Physically, DeGarres had not had much interest in the young human when he first picked him up on Earth. He had been malnourished, bony and ragged, constantly fighting off one wretched lesion, rash or other infection after another. The only thing DeGarres had been interested in was his ability as an engineer. But since leaving DeGarres' ship Harper had matured, had gained weight and muscle. His slight body was compact but wiry reminding DeGarres of a gymnast, or a goddamn monkey. He remembered how Harper scrambled over, under and through the workings of the Dark Sister, literally crawling over the ship's insides clinging to conduits with one hand while working with the other. Yes, he had matured into a far more attractive young adult that DeGarres would have expected.   
  
There were of course, the scars. Seamus Harper evidently found them humiliating enough to keep them hidden from his shipmates. Some might find such scars distracting, but DeGarres felt a warm rush of desire at the thought of how those scars came into existence. Oh, he had not caused them all, but he had caused enough. Having Harper spread-eagled on his bed last night, completely submissive, laying the belt onto his unprotected back, had been stimulating.   
  
Yes, DeGarres nodded to himself. I'm glad you're back with us Seamus. There is much of you I wish to explore. DeGarres took a long swallow of liquor as he watched the young engineer slide carefully into the warm mineral bath, grimacing as the heated water inched up his injured back. "Much I want to explore," he said to himself.   
  
*****  
  
Gingerly Harper eased his aching body into the warm water of the bath. At first the liquid stung as it crept up the raw welts on his back, then slowly some of the pain subsided. His back and the rest of his body tingled, and he assumed a local anesthesia had been added to the water. He didn't expect that. He never knew what to expect from DeGarres, torment or pleasure the man seemed to consider them the same thing. The tension gradually eased out of Harper's body as the pain eased. He closed his eyes and for a moment, tried to forget. But that was impossible. DeGarres' guard stood silently by the side of the tub, arms crossed over his massive chest, a feral glint in his small dark eyes. As Harper met his eyes the man smiled, anticipation evident in his look. The man knew all too well what DeGarres intended. And so did Harper. The beating was just a preamble to the main event. Harper shuddered. It was a main event that would never happen. DeGarres had taken him by surprise in the market place. Caught him off guard, and taken advantage of his surprise. It would not happen again.   
  
Slowly Harper pulled himself out of the bath. He turned his back on the ever-watchful guard and toweled himself dry. He had quickly pulled on the loose linen pants that had been left in place of his own clothes when the door opened and DeGarres entered. DeGarres moved with deliberate slowness, each action emphasizing his size and the ease with which he dominated the smaller human. In his left hand he carried a tall goblet of water. Stopping less than two feet in front of Harper, DeGarres held the goblet out to his captive and Harper eagerly drank the fluid, not caring that it may be drugged. DeGarres set the goblet aside, his eyes slowly raking the younger man. Harper found himself blushing furiously  
  
"I've misjudged you in the past, Seamus."  
  
"Greatly," Harper replied.   
  
"Not your attitude," DeGarres corrected. "Your body. I remember you as a scrawny youth. The past few years have treated you well.   
  
"Yeah, well three squares a day will do that."   
  
DeGarres' hand rested on Harper's shoulder, clamping down on bruised muscle, holding him in place, and not allowing him to withdraw. Harper grimaced as DeGarres applied pressure. With DeGarres' henchman directly behind him Harper could not move away. He could feel the heat of the bodies pressed so closely to him. Releasing his grip on his shoulder, DeGarres turned his hand over and with the backs of his fingers traced a path lightly and slowly across Harper's chest, then down the midline of his stomach, stroking his flesh as one would stroke a pet. Harper's stomach rolled with dread and his skin prickled at the unwelcome touch. "A gymnast's body." DeGarres observed. "Toned. Balanced. I like that. I'm sure that headache is gone now," he said. He had slowly moved in on Harper until he stood just inches away from the smaller man. Sandwiching him between himself and his guard. Unable to meet his direct gaze, Harper turned his head aside and opened his mouth to reply when loud voices from the main room distracted DeGarres. Harper took advantage of the diversion and sidestepped away from him.   
  
"This will have to wait" DeGarres said.   
  
"Yeah, till hell freezes over," Harper said under his breath.   
  
As he turned to leave, DeGarres picked up a clean white shirt and tossed it in Harper's direction. "Put that on," he ordered.   
  
*****  
  
Rommie stood unobtrusively behind Dylan. To DeGarres, she was certain her posture looked submissive. She had noted his cursory analysis of her presence when she entered. He had dismissed her immediately, focusing his attention on Captain Hunt. With Dylan providing the necessary diversion, she was free to analyze the room's defenses. They were surprisingly few. Except for extensive visual surveillance system, there was little in the way of defensive electronics. DeGarres was evidently supremely confident that he was secure and did not expect an assault on his stronghold. Further analysis of the visual sensors indicated that they were designed to observe the room's inhabitants, and secondarily to guard against external intruders. DeGarres' confidence may work in their favor.   
  
As she catalogued the technical information and transmitted it to the ship's main computer, she continued to observe the room, in which they stood searching for evidence of Harper's presence, scanning for any information that may increase their chances of recovering the engineer. She was beginning to think she would find no such evidence, but she scanned the crumpled cover on the bed she detected droplets of blood. Was this Harper's blood? She could not be certain without DNA analysis.   
  
Unfortunately her data link to Dylan was one way and he could not communicate directly to her through it, but she noted a stiffening of his shoulders when she passed her observations through the communications link to the ship overhead, and then to the receiver in his ear. She knew he would be less than happy when she informed him that she also detected life signs in the room adjacent to the one they were in. She could not determine exactly who was in that room, but she was 99 percent certain that there were two humans present.   
  
*****  
  
DeGarres took in the strangers with a single glance, concentrating his attention on the male. He was tall, fair-haired, dressed head to foot in black leather and body armor. He appeared to be unarmed except for a foot long club he held in his right hand. Club? No, DeGarres thought better of his initial impression when he realized that it was more than that. It was an old weapon, one he had only seen in black market weapons deals, a weapon that had not been made in over 300 years. A piece of history. A High Guard weapon. This man cradled it in his hands as though he had been born with it. As though it was an extension of his arm and he could use it as such. This one was one who would not easily be bested, someone who would stand up to him without fear. And that challenge was one DeGarres had not experienced in many months.   
  
"Why have you entered my quarters without permission?" DeGarres asked. He stepped to the bar, and casually poured himself a drink. At the same time he touched the controls to the surveillance system, which allowed him to observe Harper, and opened a link to allow the engineer to see what transpired in the outer room. It was with some satisfaction that DeGarres saw Harper's expression brighten when he realized who had arrived. That alone answered all DeGarres' questions about the black clad stranger. This was someone Harper looked to for rescue.   
  
"You have something I want."  
  
'A simple enough answer,' DeGarres thought with a grin. "And what might that be?" he asked aloud.  
  
"I think you know."  
  
"Supplies? Munitions? New crew members, conscripted or hired? Sexual partners...all sexes and species? I deal with a variety of commodities."  
  
"I think you know," the man repeated. "You forcibly removed a member of my crew from an open market yesterday. I want him back."  
  
DeGarres laughed, and he saw the stranger's expression darken. "Not yours...mine," he said simply. "I have the bill of sale if you would like to see it?"  
  
"Sale?" he repeated  
  
DeGarres nodded. "Sale. Why is it so difficult for you people to comprehend that word? He sold himself to me years ago. It appears you know very little about your crew."  
  
"I know he's a valued member of my crew. That is enough."  
  
"Valued?" DeGarres glanced at the viewscreen, noting the hopeful look on Harper's face. 'Perfect,' he thought, 'let him hope. The depths of his despair when I carry him away from here will be so much more painful for having hoped at all.'  
  
"If he is of such value, perhaps we can arrange a trade."  
  
"Trade?"  
  
"Yes, trade. Surely you are willing to barter for such a 'valuable' member of your crew?"  
  
DeGarres wondered how determined this man was to recover Harper. Finding out would certainly be an entertaining game.  
  
"I want to see Harper. To know that he is here and alive."  
  
DeGarres noted with some amusement that 'unharmed' was not one of his stipulations. A perceptive man, this one.   
  
"That can be arranged."  
  
****  
  
DeGarres circled Harper, glaring down at the smaller man. Harper knew it was an attempt to intimidate him. 'And it works,' he thought miserably to himself. He had experienced a surge of hope when he saw Dylan and Rommie standing in DeGarres' outer room. That hope receded when DeGarres stalked back into the bathing area his face a black scowl. Harper suddenly felt weak, his knees wobbled, and he cursed his own body for threatening to betray him. His injuries, lack of food, and his ever rising temperature threatened to overwhelm him, but he was determined not to appear feeble before this man...not again.   
  
"You didn't tell me your friends were High Guard officers." DeGarres had stopped behind Harper, his breath feathered across the back of the younger man's neck, causing the hair at the nape of his neck to rise with a prickling chill.   
  
"They aren't." Harper fought to hold his voice steady. DeGarres had to believe whatever he said was the truth.   
  
"I'm no fool Harper. I can tell by the way he is dressed, the weapon he carries, his stance and demeanor." DeGarres moved to stand in front of Harper, studying his face for any sign of falsehood. "He is a trained officer. The only problem is, there are no longer any human service organizations to provide such training. So I ask you this, where did you find a High Guard officer and are there more? "  
  
Harper hesitated.   
  
DeGarres gripped Harper firmly by the chin and forced him to look upward. "And don't lie to me Harper. It would not go well with you if you lie."  
  
"It won't go well with me if I tell the truth."   
  
DeGarres' fingers tightened before he released Harper's face with a neck-snapping jerk. "True," he said, "but at least I can say I beat you for a reason if you lie. Not that I need a reason. Now tell me. And remember this...we are in DaiChi Confederation space. The DaiChi never did have any tolerance for the High Guard, even when Commonwealth strength was at its peak. One word to the proper authorities on this world and your friend would be hunted down, and placed on display, either before or after he is publicly tried for crimes only the Confederation knows he's committed. Now, who is your friend and how many of him are there?"  
  
Harper licked his dry lips. "His name's Dylan Hunt, and he's just one."  
  
"One."  
  
"I think that's what I said."  
  
"And where did this one misguided human come from?"  
  
"A 300 year ride on a black hole."  
  
DeGarres burst into laughter. "Really, Seamus. That lie is almost too outrageous to punish. Try again."  
  
"I'm not lyin'." Harper shot back, anger creeping into his voice. "His ship was trapped in the event horizon of a black hole for 300 years. We pulled it out as part of a salvage operation."  
  
"We?"  
  
"I was working for a salvage outfit, before--"  
  
"--before the good captain gave you a berth on board his High Guard ship in return for saving his life." DeGarres taunted.   
  
"Yes. He needed an engineer."  
  
"So did I." DeGarres face clouded with anger. Harper flinched, in anticipation of a blow. "I warned you not to lie, Seamus."  
  
"And I said it wouldn't matter. You don't believe the truth even when you get it."  
  
DeGarres drew back his hand, and Harper closed his eyes, but the blow never landed. When he opened his eyes again, DeGarres looked thoughtful. "A Commonwealth ship."  
  
"Not a very big one," Harper lied.   
  
"I will let you talk to this Dylan Hunt. Watch what you say and remember, the Confederation would love to make an example of him."  
  
*****  
  
Dylan was surprised to see Harper appear through the doorway to the left. Harper's relief was almost tangible as he looked from Dylan to Rommie. Despite Trance's misgivings, he appeared to be unharmed. Then Dylan looked closer. Yes, he was freshly clean and there were no visible marks on him, but he moved stiffly, his shoulders unnaturally rigid, and his posture forced. The loose white shirt he wore was much too large, as though belonging to another man bigger than the engineer was. The white fabric and oversized cut against his already pale skin only served to make Harper appear smaller, and more vulnerable. Not a good impression to leave with this crowd, Dylan thought. The shirtsleeves hung down over his hands, and Dylan saw that his fists were clenched around the cuffs holding them down over his knuckles.   
  
"Harper?" Dylan asked.  
  
"Hey, Boss." Harper's answer was light but it did not fully conceal the tension in his voice.  
  
Dylan stepped closer and noted a slight flush on the younger man's face, his eyes unnaturally bright. Dylan resisted the urge to feel Harper's forehead as he would a child's. He knew at a glance, and without Rommie's input, his resident handyman with the 'dodgy' immune system, had an elevated temperature. 'This is not good at all,' Dylan thought. He had no way of knowing what infectious agent Harper may come in contact with, how virulent it might be, or whether he was receiving any medical attention.   
  
"You okay?" Dylan asked.  
  
"So far."  
  
'So far nothing.' Dylan thought. Stepping closer he reached out and gently gripped Harper's shoulder. It was meant to be a gesture of reassurance. Dylan was only somewhat surprised when Harper's face contorted in an ill-concealed grimace. At the same time his right hand instinctively tried to dislodge Dylan's from his shoulder, and as he did the cuff of his sleeve fell away. Harper quickly dropped his arm, pulling the cuff back over his hand, but he was not quick enough. Dylan had seen the bruised and abraded wrist. Harper had obviously been tightly bound long enough to cause considerable damage. Why he was attempting to conceal the injury?   
  
The young man had stepped away as Dylan reached for him again.   
  
"I want to know what he's done to you," Dylan commanded.  
  
"Nothin'," Harper answered, far to quickly. "I'm good, boss. I just need to get out of here. Sooner the better. I got a feeling my virtue may be at stake here, if you know what I mean."  
  
Dylan nodded. He did not need a blow by blow description to know what Harper meant. He had seen the look on DeGarres' face when he said he owned Seamus Harper. DeGarres was a sexual predator preying on those weaker than he. There was something about Harper that a man like DeGarres would feel compelled to dominate. Whether it was his size, or his attitude, or both, Seamus Harper unintentionally attracted DeGarres' brand of trouble.   
  
Suddenly Harper hung his head, unable to look Dylan in the eye. "Boss, I...."  
  
"What, Harper."  
  
"I told him about Andromeda," Harper said in a voice barely above a whisper. "About how you were suspended for 300 years. Honest, Boss, I didn't think..."  
  
Dylan had raised one hand to hush Harper. "I don't think it matters what you said, Harper. I have a feeling he would have found out on his own eventually. The important thing is getting you out of here."  
  
"He ain't gonna let me go," Harper said in a barely audible voice. "No matter what kind of deal he tries to strike, don't fall for it. He'll double cross you. He'll turn you in to the authorities planetside. They have no love for the Commonwealth here."  
  
"I'll keep that in mind. You just do what you can to avoid him."  
  
"Believe me, Dylan, I'm tryin'."  
  
DeGarres, accompanied by an enormous human, emerged from the door behind Harper.   
"That's enough," he said. "You've seen what you need to see, Hunt. Now I suggest we talk terms." Nodding to his guard, DeGarres waited while Harper was roughly led back into the room from which he had emerged minutes before. Dylan eyed DeGarres, knowing full well there would be no deal. Whatever the heartless bastard had done to his engineer, he would not bargain to release him. They would only go through the motions.   
  
*****  
  
DeGarres felt the smug smile curling his lips as he poured himself another drink. He had every reason to pat himself on the back. Twenty-four hours ago he would not have predicted lady luck would smile so fortuitously. Not only had he recovered Seamus Harper, he believed the High Guard was going to succumb to his demands. He had not expected such capitulation when he demanded arms for his "boy", but after heated discussion a bargain had been struck. The High Guard had agreed to trade weapons for Harper. It was a beginning. He would milk the sorry fool for as much as he could, dangling Harper in front of his nose, but never quite delivering. That 300-year sleep must have turned the man's resolve to sentimental mush. Certainly even an idealistic High Guard would not believe he would hold to such a deal. Yet, he hoped Hunt would. The price in trade for the technology he had demanded would amply line his coffers and he would still have his Harper.   
  
Suddenly he felt very expansive and generous, and wanted to share his good fortune with the indirect author of that potential fortune. He buzzed his guard. "Bring him in here," he commanded.   
  
Seconds later, Harper and his guard emerged once again into the common room. DeGarres was still grinning as he waved Harper to a seat at the dining table. Swaying, the younger human practically fell into the seat, taking care not to lean back. Harper licked his lips repeatedly eyeing the sparkling glass in DeGarres' hand. Nodding at Harper's guard, DeGarres ordered the man leave and send a staff member with food and drinks for them both.   
  
DeGarres seated himself across the table from Harper, casually leaning back, fingering his glass but not offering it, as he watched the young man. Harper looked decidedly ill, pitifully small and deliciously vulnerable all of which heightened DeGarres' desire to possess him despite his haggard appearance. Captain Dylan Hunt must share the same desire or he would not dicker so long for his return.   
  
"Aren't you curious?" DeGarres said, breaking the silence.  
  
"About what?" Harper seemed to have trouble focusing on the question. His face twisted in a grimace each time he moved and he avoided looking directly at DeGarres.  
  
"Why, about how much you're worth to your friends."  
  
"Dylan won't trade."  
  
"On the contrary. He seemed quite eager to trade. He's desperate to get you back." DeGarres leaned forward, putting his hand behind Harper's head and drawing his face closer, forcing the young man to look at him. He was pleased to see fear in Harper's eyes. "Now, tell me, Seamus, how close are you and the High Guard? Don't tell me he's had you under his nose for, how long, and hasn't touched you."  
  
"I was under your nose and you didn't," he said a surge of defiance in his tone. "And Dylan is way better than you."  
  
DeGarres laughed a rich, genuine belly laugh. "Oh, the noble High Guard, too righteous to dally with those under his command. Come now, Harper, what kind of blind fool do you think I am? I watched his reaction when I told him I owned you. I saw jealousy there."  
  
"Yeah, well jealousy's in the eye of the beholder," Harper mumbled under his breath.   
  
"I am not so righteous as the High Guard," DeGarres continued. "As you will learn soon enough."  
  
"So why don't you just get it over with instead of talking? Rape me if that's what makes you feel powerful." Harper's voice rose slightly, tension, pain, and exhaustion, all forcing their way into his tone.   
  
"I may do just that." DeGarres could see a tremor go through Harper and for the briefest moment DeGarres was tempted. Harper evidently had not yet learned his place, despite his recent bout with the belt. Oh, yes, it was a tempting invitation, but that was not the plan. "There's no rush," he answered casually. "When the time comes, I intend on savoring the moment." It gave him a certain pleasure to see Harper blanch and squirm as he confirmed his fears.   
  
Before DeGarres could say more, the door swished open and one of the kitchen staff entered with a laden tray. Quickly transferring her burden to the table, the server back stepped out of the room, as though staying terrified her. DeGarres filled a plate for himself then did the same for Harper. "Now stop talking and eat." DeGarres dug into the food on his plate with obvious relish.   
  
****  
  
DeGarres seemed lost in his meal, blissfully devouring his food, without looking up to see if Harper was doing the same. Staring at the plate in front of him, Harper felt suddenly ill. Feast or famine, he thought. DeGarres is either beating the crap out of me, or treating me like a favored pet. Several hours ago he had been hungry enough to eat a horse, but now the smell of food alone was causing his stomach to flip and roll. He was going to be sick. He glanced at his captor to see if he was aware of his distress, but DeGarres seemed to have forgotten he existed. He desperately looked for anyplace to relieve his stomach. The sink at the bar was his only option, provided he could stagger that far. It was going to be the longest ten feet of his life.   
  
Without speaking to DeGarres, he pulled himself to his feet and half walked, half fell to the bar, his insides threatening to turn outward as he buried his head in the basin. But there was nothing in his stomach to come up. Still it cramped and surged, forcing him to grip the sides of the sink as wave after wave of dry heaves doubled him over. His knees quivered and his head was light, when he felt an arm gently circle his waist, a hand massage the aching muscles of his abdomen, the same hand that hours before had been unwelcome now providing silent support and comfort. Eventually the spasms knotting his stomach subsided, and he allowed DeGarres to lead him to the couch where he flopped face down, too weak to move or protest. God, if ever DeGarres wanted to take advantage of him, now was the time. He hadn't the strength to resist. But he heard the man return to his table. Heard the clink of cutlery against china. He buried his face in the cushions and wanted to die.   
  
*****  
  
Harper roused to the familiar sound of glass on glass. He did not need to open his eyes to know that DeGarres was drinking, had been drinking for some time judging from the reek of alcohol that permeated the room. The throbbing in his head and back had finally subsided to a manageable ache, but the fever had seeped into his joints, stiffening them and making it hard to move. Opening his eyes tried to look around the room without attracting DeGarres' attention. It appeared they were alone, and that night had fallen. The room was dim, lit only by a single lamp in the corner. The table was still littered with the remnants of their dinner, and several empty drink glasses were scattered forgotten about the floor.   
  
Harper knew DeGarres well enough to know that this didn't bode well for his future health. DeGarres was known to drink himself into a fine rage and strike out at anyone within range, and right now Seamus Harper was the only someone who fit that bill. He also knew this might be his only chance to attempt escape. Harper could hear DeGarres crashing around in the bathroom, mumbling to himself. Slowly he slipped off the couch, cursing his wobbly legs, and praying they would hold him long enough to reach the door. With any luck, DeGarres was confident enough in his own position and his guards that the door wouldn't be locked.  
  
He barely made it to the middle of the room when voice spoke behind him, "Going somewhere?"   
  
Slowly, Harper turned. DeGarres approached him from the doorway to the bathroom, a glass of amber liquor in one hand, an unnatural sway in his gate. He casually set the glass down then, rounding on the smaller human he swung his arm, catching him across the side of the head with an open handed blow. It was not a strong swing, but the force of it tossed Harper backward against the bar. He cried out as the wooden edge caught him across the back, then went down in a ragged heap at DeGarres' feet. Grabbing the back of his oversized shirt, DeGarres hauled Harper to his feet pinning him belly down against the bar. The engineer shook his head, the imprint of DeGarres' fingers seared his flushed cheek.   
  
"Hunt deserted you," DeGarres practically spat the words, his mouth inches from Harper's ear. "I'm not surprised you filthy, lying runt." With each phrase DeGarres slammed his helpless captive against the bar. "You told me he had a 'small' ship. Two hours ago my first officer reported the sudden departure through the slipstream of a damned High Guard Ship of the Line. Is that your 'small' ship, Harper? Huh? Do you know what I would have gotten for a ship like that? Do you think I would have wasted time bargaining, if I'd known that kind of treasure was lurking behind the moon? No! I'd have turned him over to the Confederation and collected a plump reward then salvaged that ship for millions. Do you know what you cost me?" DeGarres emphasized his last words with a tight fisted blow to Harper's side eliciting a grunt of pain from his victim. "When he comes back I will be ready for him."   
  
"He won't come back," Harper said through teeth clenched in pain.   
  
"Oh, he will come back," DeGarres said. "Because his misguided sense of idealism will force him to attempt to rescue you. When he does I will be ready for him, and so will the Confederation patrols. When all is said and done, Hunt will cease to exist, and so will your hope, because after he is gone his ship will be mine and you will still be mine. In the meantime, you will be my bait in this little charade."  
  
Bait. The word echoed through Harper's increasingly addled mind. How could he mess up so badly? He no longer cared if he became DeGarres' slave. That was better than risking Dylan, Andromeda and his friends. He'd go with the bastard. He'd be his engineer, he'd be his whipping boy, he'd be his damned lover, as long as DeGarres left his friends alone.   
  
DeGarres released his hold, and turned away. Harper's knees quivered as he fought to hold himself upright. He licked his dry lips, tasting blood from a cut inside his mouth. If he was lucky, DeGarres would forget about him for a while and go back to his drinking. But when he turned back to Harper, a stiff, flat flail was gripped in his hand. DeGarres wasn't finished. The voice in Harper's mind screamed at him to run or fight, but his legs wouldn't respond.   
  
DeGarres caught him by the collar and spun him around. The flail came down across his chest, cutting through the fabric of his shirt, digging deep into the flesh below. Pushing him away from the bar, DeGarres kicked his legs out from under him. Harper crashed to the floor. Raising his hands, he attempted to block the next blow, but the flail cut mercilessly into his palm. There was no where to hide. DeGarres was too quick, and too strong. Blows rained down on Harper's stomach, his legs, arms and back until he was screaming blind with pain. Rolling away from the source of his torment, Harper crashed into the table that a few hours ago held DeGarres' celebratory feast. As he jarred the leg, silverware, plates and glasses came down around him. The noise only served to incense DeGarres. The larger man bodily lifted Harper from the floor, but not before his fist closed around a smooth metal handle, clutching it firmly hidden by the over long sleeve of his shirt.   
  
Harper was carried into the adjoining room, and tossed like a rag doll on the bed. DeGarres immediately straddling him, one knee on either side of Harper's hips. Pinned by the weight of the larger human, Harper heard his low laughter, felt his hands slide under his tattered shirt, lifting the fabric tearing it open like a child tears open a gift until all that remained was a twisted tangle wrapped around his wrists like shackles. DeGarres' face was black with rage, but there was another passion in the man's dark features that terrified his captive. Harper realized with mind numbing clarity, DeGarres got off on the pain. The more he hurt his victims the more aroused the man became.  
  
"You really don't want to do this," Harper gasped. "I'm sick. I've got social diseases you've never heard of."   
  
DeGarres backhanded him across the face. "Silence. I've no more patience with your mouth." Harper felt DeGarres' sodden breath on his face once more, as he leaned forward to whisper in his ear, "Remember, Seamus," DeGarres taunted, his voice husky with desire, "You begged me to rape you. Remember that."  
  
Harper shook his head in denial, his heart pounded with helpless terror as the man knelt over him, holding him to the bed with his knees, and the hand that pinned his arms over his head. DeGarres' free hand slid over the length of Harper's naked torso caressing each new wound, applying enough pressure to cause surges of pain. Hidden amidst the tangle of fabric around his wrists Harper gripped the handle of the knife he had picked up from the floor unable to maneuver the blade into striking position. He struggled against DeGarres' groping hand. DeGarres was relentless in his quest to cause pain. Every inch of Harper's torso was covered with fresh slashes and his tormentor sought out each wound. There was no gentleness to what he did. Harper's breath came in sharp gasps as he alternately held his breath against the pain and forced himself to breathe. He had closed his eyes blocking from his sight and hopefully his mind, all that was happening. But DeGarres was determined to refuse him even that small respite. A hard hand struck him across the face again.  
  
"Open your eyes," DeGarres growled. "Open your eyes, you little bastard."  
  
"Not a bastard," Harper said.  
  
Another slap rocked his head to the side. He opened his eyes and looked into the face of Satan himself. DeGarres' eyes burned with lust, his face contorted into a twisted smile.   
  
"Yes, you little runt. You will watch." DeGarres' hand when to his own waist, unfastening his belt, then the trousers beneath. "Watch, while I do what I should have done to you years ago."  
  
And then the room when black.   
  
"What the hell," DeGarres raged. "What is this?"  
  
An eerie silence engulfed the room. For a moment Harper was frozen by the unexpected darkness. With a surge of adrenaline driven strength Harper took advantage of the sudden distraction. Twisting his arms free of DeGarres' loosened grip, he fumbled to untangle the knife, exposing the blade then, with all the force he could muster, brought the weapon forward towards his tormentor. It struck home with a sickening thud. A gush of warm blood slicked his hands, and as DeGarres jerked away with a howl of animal rage, Harper lost his hold on the knife. Pulling his knees forward he levered to the side, attempting to dump the larger man off him. DeGarres infuriated, blind and in pain had no intention of allowing him to escape.   
  
Before DeGarres could strike back he was targeted by a brilliant beam of light. Harper could make no sense of what was happening, he only knew DeGarres would make him pay dearly. Then he heard the familiar sound of a High Guard force lance being activated. 'I'm too close' he thought absently as an energy discharge engulfed them both knocking DeGarres backward. Harper was stunned by the close proximity of the blast, but he knew he was free of DeGarres' weight. He started to roll off the bed when he felt himself being lifted, tossed over a set of broad shoulders in a fireman's carry. Chain mail, he thought dazedly as the metal dug into the welts on his abdomen. Moments later, the cool night air caressed his skin. He was aware of little, except the sensation of being carried and of the occasional zinging noise of an energy weapon being fired. Within minutes he was surrounded by the familiar sound and scent of the Eureka Maru.   
  
He didn't remember going from broad shoulders to steel deck plates, but he opened his eyes to see Beka's worried face staring at him. "You with us, Harper?"  
  
"Uh...I don' know. Am I?" Brilliant, he thought to himself.   
  
Beka laughed. "Yeah, I think you are. Hang in there. We'll have you back to Andromeda in just a few minutes. First we gotta kick some Dark Sister ass."  
  
Then Beka was gone, but Trance was there, with a blanket to cover his wounded body which had begun to shake in the cool shipboard air.   
  
****  
  
Trance knelt beside Harper. Her hands hovered in the air before resting gently on his shoulders. Her heart lurched when he flinched at her touch.   
  
"Come on, Harper. You need to walk about fifteen feet to the infirmary. Tyr's too busy to carry you." She steadied him as he slowly levered himself to his feet. She could feel the fine tremors beginning to reverberate through his frame and knew they would soon turn into more violent shakes as his body expelled unused adrenaline. She needed to move him before all that adrenaline was gone. She resisted the urge to wrap her tail around his waist to provide support. There was no unmarked place to securely hold him, so she had to be content to steer and hope he could walk the short distance on his own.   
  
"I never thought they'd look that good," Harper mumbled.  
  
"Thought who would look that good?" Trance asked as they navigated the final few feet to the Maru's tiny infirmary.  
  
"The Neitzschean cavalry coming over the hill," Harper answered shakily as he eased himself onto the room's only bed.   
  
"Cavalry? I thought it was just Beka, Dylan and Tyr."  
  
Harper's head moved from side to side and he smiled weakly. "Later, Trance. I'll explain it later. Cold."  
  
Trance moved quickly. Her resources on the Maru were not as extensive as on Andromeda, but she could assess Harper's injuries and vital signs. As she mentally ticked off the things she needed to do she tried to ignore the ache she felt inside. She had known, from Dylan and Rommie's earlier observations that DeGarres had probably beaten Harper. She was prepared for that. She was not prepared for the extent. Contusions and lacerations covered the engineer's torso, legs and arms. With heart wrenching sorrow, she remember the look of humiliation on Harper's face as he had been publicly stripped in the market and her breath caught in her throat. So many more scars, she thought sadly. Breathing deeply she knew she had to remain calm and optimistic. None of the wounds were life threatening. All needed to be cleansed and some would require sutures. Of more concern to Trance, in light of Harper's shaky immune system, was secondary infection. He was feverish and probably dehydrated. Moving carefully, she began to untwist the remnants of fabric still wrapped around his wrists. The material was not tied, but the blood soaking it made the job more difficult. As she worked she kept careful watch on her patient. Harper stared blankly not responding to her touch.   
  
"Transiting to slipstream," came Beka's voice over the intraship com system. "Brace yourselves back there, Trance."  
  
Trance braced her feet against the jolt of slipstream, steadying Harper as best she could. They were through to the other side as quickly as they had entered, and within minutes were safely nestled inside Andromeda's docking bay.   
  
"We're home, Harper," she said gently, activating the bed's anti grav unit and steering her patient toward the airlock. The quicker she got him into Andromeda's infirmary the better. As she moved she felt his uninjured hand grip hers.   
  
He said something so softly she had to bend over to catch the words.   
  
"Don't let them see."   
  
"Them?" Trance asked.  
  
"Beka, Tyr, Rev, Dylan...you know...them."  
  
"You have nothing to hide, Harper." She hoped to reassure him, but she saw his eyes squeeze tightly shut, a tiny drop of moisture collecting near the corner. Reaction to all that had happened in the last 36 hours settling around him like a pall. 'You have nothing to hide.' She said firmly to herself.   
  
*****  
  
As soon as they had secured the Maru Dylan and Beka had gone directly to Andromeda's medical deck, only to find Trance had whisked her patient into seclusion, locked the hatch and refused to admit anyone until she was done repairing the damage. Beka had been frustrated, wanting to personally assure herself that Harper would be all right. In the end she backed off, confident that Trance could handle the medical part of the injuries.   
  
Dylan Hunt had turned away from the unresponsive hatch and now stalked down the corridors of the Andromeda Ascendant. The High Guard captain felt his mouth draw into a grim line, fighting to control the murderous rage that threatened to consume his good sense. There was more to Dylan's outrage than the injuries DeGarres had inflicted on Harper. It was obvious what the brutal son of a bitch was doing when he and Tyr broke in on his private little party. Had they arrived a few minutes later and he would have succeeded in raping the younger man. He and Tyr had prevented the sexual assault, but Dylan feared they were not in time to stop the psychological damage. It would be a long time before he forgot the image of Harper kneeling on the deck plates of the Maru, covered with lacerations, bruises and blood. In a few seconds the young man's face had gone from disbelief to relief, from terror to release. But what disturbed Dylan was the cowed and beaten image in the man's eyes, a deep burning shame that caused Harper to turn away from those who had rescued him, his head down as though he did not deserve their efforts.   
  
Tyr had not spoken of the incident, yet Dylan sensed his finely controlled rage as they piloted the Maru back into deep space and through the slipstream. Dylan had belayed Beka's order to take revenge on the Dark Sister, not because he feared the outcome, but because he suspected many of her crew were little more than innocent victims like Harper. The true demon was DeGarres himself and although for once he agreed with Tyr's assessment that he should pay for what he had done and attempted to do, he doubted damaging his ship would be payment enough.   
  
Dylan was not surprised to hear the sound of bootheels on the deck behind him. He did not slow his pace, but was still overtaken within a few steps.   
  
Tyr walked beside him in silence. Dylan glanced sideways at the Neitchzean knowing he would speak when he was ready.   
  
Stopping outside Dylan's quarters, Tyr looked him straight in the eye. "Someday, Dylan, your prediliction for sparing your enemies is going to result it your unfortunate and probably premature demise. If you're lucky, you will die alone, and none of your crew will go with you."  
  
"There was no reason to go gunning for the Dark Sister. It was doubtful DeGarres had time to return to his ship."  
  
"That is not what I meant. You chose to leave DeGarres alive."  
  
"The man was unarmed."  
  
"And in the process of raping a member of your crew. Someone who looks up to you. I'm sure Mr. Harper would like to hear your reason for not destroying this human degredation."  
  
Dylan had no answer for Tyr's accusations.  
  
"Remember this, Dylan. The next time we meet DeGarres, and there will be a next time, it is not you who will pay the price."  
  
*****  
  
Faced with the task of tending to her friend's wounds, Trance found her hands shaking. Harper was right. Humans were the worst. In her short time with Beka Valentine and her crew, she had seen illness, and injury, but none compared with the deliberate damage to Harper's body. Upon arrival on Andromeda's medical deck she had quickly administered a broad range antibiotic, an analgesic for pain and fever. He needed fluids, and she had to start cleaning the worst of the injuries. Taking a deep breath she readied her equipment then turned to her patient.   
  
The painkiller had begun to take effect. Harper's eyes were closed and his breathing had slowed. He was no longer shaking. Trance set the basin filled with antiseptic wash on the examining table, dipped her hands into the warm water and wrung out the soft cloth floating there. Gently, she began to swab the blood from Harper's shoulder.   
  
"I could easily disinfect his entire body in less than 30 seconds," said Andromeda, whose holograph had appeared when they arrived on the medical deck.   
  
"Yes," Trance agreed, tilting her head slightly towards Andromeda as she spoke. "But that wouldn't be enough."  
  
"It is quite efficient."  
  
"Yes," agreed Trance again. "But Harper needs more."  
  
"Explain."  
  
"He needs the right touch." With infinite care Trance continued her ministrations. Harper stirred from his groggy slumber as she reached a particularly deep gash on his forearm. "He needs to know that hands aren't meant only to hurt.'  
  
"How can he understand that when he is not fully awake," Andromeda persisted.  
  
"He'll know."  
  
Lying on his side, Harper blinked in the bright light, then tried to focus on Trance. "It's not all mine you know," he said, his voice muzzy with painkillers.   
  
"What's not all yours?" Trance said conversationally, as though nothing was amiss.  
  
"The blood."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Hurts," he whimpered.  
  
"I know that too," Trance said, rinsing the cloth in the basin, turning the liquid pink. "I'm going to wash your hands."  
  
"I can do that. I'm not a baby." Harper tried to push himself to a sitting position, but Trance easily held him down.   
  
"You could. In fact I could let you shower. But if you fell down, we would both be in trouble."  
  
"You could help me," Harper said with hint of his usual innuendo.  
  
"I don't think that would be wise right now," Trance said, playing the game. She expected a continued response, instead Harper subsided, a dull lassitude slipping over him that Trance suspected had nothing to do with the drugs she had administered for pain. "Beka and Dylan are worried about you," she stated, changing the subject as she continued to work.  
  
"Ma and Pa Kettle." Harper winced as she cleaned the deep gash across his palm.   
  
"Tyr and Rev Bem, too. They *all* want to make sure you're okay."  
  
"Tyr?" Harper said his voice a dry whisper.  
  
"Yes. Why not Tyr?"  
  
"Because he's Neitzschean. And I'm....nothing." Harper's last word was almost a sob.   
  
"Even Tyr," Trance said with emphasis. "He said he 'it was not in the best interest of his survival to let you stay in the hands of a madman like DeGarres.' They all want to see you as soon as your injuries are treated."  
  
"NO!"   
  
Trance was startled by the vehemence of his answer. "You never said 'no' to visitors before."  
  
"Not like this," he repeated his face contorting. "Not like this."   
  
Trance dropped her cloth, one hand resting lightly on his arm, the other stroking his sweat soaked hair. Every inch of her ached with sympathy. "You've done nothing wrong. Nothing to be ashamed of," she cooed.  
  
"I let it happen. I didn't fight."  
  
"I saw DeGarres and his men. Tyr would have had trouble fighting them."  
  
"Doesn't matter."  
  
Trance did not say another word. She did her best to soothe Harper until he once again slipped into troubled sleep, then she prepared another hypo with a stronger sedative. It was best Harper stayed asleep while she did what she needed to do, but despite the heavier dosage, he stirred, and cried out when she touched the deep gash on his chest, and worked down lower on his hips and back. Carefully, she bathed his wounds, sutured those that needed it, and sealed them with protective film. Andromeda coached her on the best methods to minimize scarring and infection. 'Clean wounds heal clean,' she said. When Trance finished she covered him and allowed Andromeda to create a sterile field around him. She contacted Beka and Dylan to inform them of Harper's condition, then settled down to keep vigil over her sleeping friend.  
  
*****  
  
Harper opened his eyes slowly, aware that he was laying on his side, a warm draft caressing his skin. He was naked. He was sure of it. For a moment he was disoriented. Then a face appeared in front of his. A purple, sparkly face. "Trance," he tried to say, except it came out a garbled croak. 'I'm naked in bed and Trance is here,' he thought. 'I must have died.' He reached out to touch her face, and as he stretched the skin on his forearm, he felt a dull throb. Turning his hand over halfway to its goal, he stared at the deep cut across his palm, and remembered. He sat upright, a surge of panic sweeping though him, afraid he had placed Trance in danger. DeGarres would be back. He'd be back with his damned belt.   
  
"Harper," Trance said. "Calm down."  
  
"DeGarres?"  
  
"He's not here. You're back on Andromeda. In Medical. You're safe. Calm down."   
  
Harper continued to stare at his hand, as the memories flooded back. "Trance, you gotta get me out of here." He looked down at his chest and stomach, alarmed by the number raw slash marks he found there. "I gotta get out of here before they come."   
  
"Harper," Trance said in her most calming tone. "Beka and Dylan have already seen what happened to you. They saw when they rescued you."  
  
"I never wanted anyone to know."   
  
He felt Trance's arms gently encircle him. Her forehead rested against his.   
  
"But we do know. And we all want to help. You have to let us help."  
  
Harper squeezed his eyes against the tears that would not come.   
  
*****  
  
"Trance."  
  
Trance rubbed her eyes sleepily.  
  
"Trance," Andromeda said again.   
  
Trance awoke with a start. 'Harper," she thought. She had fallen asleep, and something had happened to him. When she reached his side she realized he was sleeping, still under the influence of the last sedative. She checked his temperature and pulse to assure herself nothing had changed.   
  
"Trance," Andromeda said a third time.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Dylan is outside the Medical Bay. He would like to talk to you about Harper. He has asked me to override hatch security and allow him to enter if you don't respond."  
  
Trance hesitated for a moment watching Harper sleep. Perhaps now would be the best time to allow Dylan to visit. It had to happen. Harper could not hide forever, and she did not think he should.   
  
"Please, unlock the door, Andromeda. Ask Dylan to come in quietly."  
  
*****  
  
Several hours after their return to Andromeda, Beka Valentine stood on the rec deck slamming one of Dylan's basketballs into the wall with all her might. When it bounced wildly back to her, she caught it and slammed it into the wall again. With each slam she pretended the basketball was DeGarres' head. She was sorry she had allowed Dylan to derail her attack on the Dark Sister. It didn't matter that she understood his reasoning, she was still furious.   
  
She needed to talk to Harper. More importantly, she needed *him* to talk to her. She needed to know that he was going to be all right, and that he would not blame her for failing to keep him safe. It was the one thing she had promised him when she picked him up on Zarana 4, though he never specified what she was protecting him from. Now, she knew.   
  
"I don't think Dylan would approve of your use of his basketball," said a gravelly voice behind her.   
  
Beka whirled to see Rev Bem standing in the open hatchway.  
  
"Oh, he'd approve," Beka said bitterly. "'Specially if he knew I was imagining this was DeGarres' head." She could almost hear the Magog say 'tut, tut.'  
  
"Vengeance is not the way."  
  
"Is that supposed to be a pun?" Beka slammed the basketball again.   
  
Rev grunted. "No. Just a statement of fact."  
  
"Well, maybe vengeance is the only way I can help Harper right now."  
  
Rev was silent for a moment, and Beka could almost hear him thinking as he carefully chose his words. "The Andromeda is in upheaval. You are all angry because of what happened to young Harper, even though none of it was your fault. Destroying this man you are so angry with, will not erase this experience from Harper's memory."  
  
"No. Maybe not." The basketball hit the wall again with more force. "But it might let him rest easier, and I'd have the satisfaction of knowing it would never happen again."  
  
"Never? How can you know?"  
  
"Know what?"  
  
"That at some time in his life, something equally disturbing would not happen to young Harper?"  
  
Slam, the ball careened wildly around the room. Beka made no attempt to catch it this time. Standing in the middle of the rec deck she knew she had no answer. Turning, she faced the Magog. There were times when his damned serenity was annoying.   
  
"Then what do you suggest?"  
  
"Perhaps the only help you can offer is to simply be present."  
  
"He doesn't want us 'present.'"  
  
"So he says."  
  
Beka glared at Rev Bem. How could he distill it down to something so simple. Looking into the Magog's dark eyes, she knew in her heart he was probably right. Turning on her heel she headed towards the medical bay.   
  
*****  
  
Standing outside Medical, Beka rehearsed a thousand excuses and arguments to convince Trance to let her visit Harper. As it turned out, she did not need any of them. The hatch was unsealed. She stepped into the darkened room. The lights had been lowered, but were emitting enough energy to allow her to see without tripping over anything. The figure slouched in the chair next to Harper's bed was not Trance as she had expected. It was Dylan. She approached quietly, snagging another chair and moving it closer to Harper.   
  
Even in the subdued light, she was not happy with what she saw. Harper lay on his side, bathed in the soft amber glow of a sterile field, his tousled head propped on a pillow. The only other color in his face a purpled bruise on his cheek. What she could see of his upper body was covered with fresh abrasions. She had expected this after seeing the blood covering his torso when they hauled him back on board the Maru. But somehow, cleaned and bandaged, the damage seemed more stark. Seeing each individual wound, being able to count the strokes, knowing someone had, with great deliberation, inflicted each injury, caused a slow burn of anger to creep into her gut. Accidents were one thing. Illness was another. These things happen. But this kind of planned, intentional abuse made the bile rise in her throat.   
  
As though privy to her thoughts, Harper suddenly shifted in sleep, whimpering softly, his face contorting as fear ghosted across his features.   
  
"He's fighting," Dylan said quietly.  
  
Beka was startled by Dylan's soft voice. She had assumed he was asleep. "Fighting the sedative?"   
  
"No," Dylan said shaking his head. "I think he's fighting his life. His past. His memories. The sedative just took him there."  
  
Beka stared dumbly at Harper's ravaged back, the livid bruises on his face and wrists, and felt anger swelling in her again. 'Mother mode is kicking in,' she thought. She wanted to protect Harper, to shelter him from men like DeGarres. She knew she couldn't. That he would never let her. But the instinct was hard to fight.   
  
"This should never have happened," she said, feeling an overwhelming sense of misplaced guilt. She had failed to protect one of her crew and it would be a long time before she forgave herself. Looking into Dylan's eyes she saw the same guilt reflected back.  
  
"It's happened before." Dylan said softly.  
  
"More than once it would seem."  
  
"It won't happen again. This time will be different."  
  
"How can it be different?" Beka shot back. Her anger spilling over into her words, even though Dylan was no more guilty of what happened to Harper than she was. "How do we know DeGarres won't find us again? How do we know there isn't another sadistic bastard out there who'll decide he wants Harper, or Trance, or you, as his next play toy?"  
  
"We don't know. All we know for certain is, this time, Harper won't be alone." Dylan continued in a low voice. He reached out and gently ruffled Harper's hair causing the young man to stir in his sleep. "We'll be here to help."  
  
"That's what Rev Bem said."  
  
"What?"  
  
"That maybe all we need to do is just be there," Beka answered.   
  
*****  
  
Dylan was not surprised when Trance came to him the next day, upset because Harper had walked out of the infirmary without being discharged. He found Harper in engineering, tools and parts scattered across his work surface and the floor, acting as though nothing were amiss. Nor was he fooled by Harper's surreptitious effort to kick a small duffel bag under the table as he entered the room  
  
"Hey, Boss," he said waving a micro welder in the air. "I'll have these analyzers up and running in no time at all."  
  
"Trance told me she didn't want *you* up and running yet, Harper. She said you need to rest and spend at least another 24 hours under the sterile field." Dylan stepped carefully around the mess on the floor.   
  
"I'm okay, Boss. Besides, if Trance keeps hovering she going to wear us both out."  
  
Dylan was not fooled by Harper's glib attitude. He had a bad feeling the younger man planned to slip away from the Andromeda unnoticed.   
  
"Didn't you forget one thing," Dylan asked.  
  
"Forget?" Harper said. "Forget what?"  
  
"To ask for the car keys, Harper."  
  
"Whata ya mean?" Harper said, an innocent look on his face.  
  
Dylan bent over and recovered the bag from underneath the table. "Were you planning on telling anyone before you left?" Dylan asked.  
  
Harper put down the tools in his hands turned slightly away from Dylan. He sighed deeply. "Its the best thing, Boss," he said.  
  
"To run away?" Dylan continued to push. "What would you accomplish by doing that?"  
  
"You'd all be safer without me onboard."  
  
"And how do you figure that?"  
  
Running both hands through his hair, Harper shook his head as though trying to rid himself of the memories. "Don't ya see, Boss, it ain't just me anymore. Now it's Andromeda, too. It's my fault DeGarres knows she's out here. And he won't stop till he finds her. He wouldn't known about Andromeda if it weren't for me."  
  
"Then tell me how running is going to change that?" Dylan asked. "You'll be gone and he'll still be looking for Andromeda." Then suddenly Dylan understood. "That is unless you intend tracking him down." Harper didn't answer. He didn't need to. Dylan could read the truth in his face. "And doing what? Planting one of your little explosive devices on his ship? I can't let you do that Harper."  
  
"How can you stop me?"   
Dylan was quiet for a moment. "I suppose, since I don't *own* you, I can't stop you or make you stay. I can only ask you to stay. Because you're part of this crew. Because we need you."  
  
Harper stood with his hands jammed deep in his pockets. "Tell me, Boss," he said, "Can you guarantee DeGarres is dead?"  
  
Dylan had known he would have to assume responsibility for that question eventually. "No," he replied. "I can't tell you for certain he's dead, Harper. But can tell you that if he's not, you're safer here on board Andromeda than you would be roaming the galaxies alone."  
  
"You just don't get it. I wasn't safe here. He found me." A whisper of dread softened Harper's voice, as fear ghosted across his features. "You know what's gonna happen the next time he gets a hold of me." The young man's face contorted and he stared at the ceiling, trying to compose his features. The memory too fresh and raw to articulate. "I asked for it ya know? I practically invited him to do it. When you and Tyr...rescued me...he was...I'd told him to just rape me and get it over with." Harper's shoulders slumped. He continued to look anywhere except at Dylan. When he spoke his voice was very low. "Right before he...before you got there he made a point of rubbing my nose in the fact that Andromeda had left. He said you deserted me."   
  
"Harper, you should know that sending the Andromeda into the slipstream was a ploy. Beka, Tyr, Trance, Rommie and I were on-board the Eureka Maru. We never left the system. Believe me Harper we got back as quickly as we could. Ronnie had analyzed DeGarres' security systems. They were practically nonexistent. It was a simple matter to knockout power to his section of the guest house. His guards were easy to take out because they weren't expecting anything."   
  
"DeGarres was was gonna to use me as bait to lure you back. I just don't think he expected you so soon. I guess he figured he had time to...to..." His voice drifted off, the sentence, if not the thought, unfinished.   
  
Dylan's voice softened, "I wish we could have gotten there a few minutes sooner." He stepped forward and started to put his hand on the young man's shoulder, but Harper pulled away.   
  
"He said you were jealous."   
  
"Jealous?" Dylan asked, though he suspected he knew exactly what DeGarres had meant.   
  
"He said he could read it in your face. When he told you about how he owned me."  
  
"He assumed I was using you," Dylan said. "The way he intended on using you. As a lover. Except love had nothing to do with it did it? He was wrong, Harper. He can't automatically make that assumption about everyone."  
  
"It's been made enough times about me." Harper suddenly swiped the table in front of him clean in a burst of anger. "What is it about me that...everybody bigger than me seems to think that that's what I want?"  
  
"All the more reason to stay with those who don't think that way. Harper, we know about DeGarres now. We'll be on the lookout for him. Andromeda and her crew, your friends, are your still best defense."  
  
"Besides, Tyr says he'll be damned if he's going to get stuck fixing everything that breaks around here," added Beka, entering engineering. She had obviously been standing just outside the door, listening, and she now came forward and stood near Harper. "And you know how Tyr gets when he gets pissed."  
  
Harper was startled by her sudden entrance, but stood his ground. Dylan could see the emotions playing across his face as he considered what had been said. He and Beka waited in silence, being there for him as Rev Bem had counseled. Harper looked from one to the other and in the end, a small measure of peace seemed to settle across his troubled features. He smiled a half lopsided grin. "You say Trance wants me back under that sterile field? Naked I suppose? Tell me, boss, is there anyway you could arrange for her to join me...?"  
  
Beka gently whapped Harper upside the head, then laughing took him by the scruff of his neck and steered him out the door. Dylan could hear her berating him all the way down the corridor. Smiling, Dylan leaned against the work table. It was a start, he thought to himself. It was a start.  
  
EPILOGUE  
  
Seamus Harper fine tuned the small device he'd had Trance recover from his bag in engineering. 'You were wrong about one thing, boss,' he thought. 'I wasn't rigging a bomb. I was rigging an alarm.' The instrument in his hand whirred softly, then fell into a barely audible, rhythmic beep. He slipped the device under the edge of his pillow, then settled back on the bed, the sterile field a gentle whisper of energy against his skin. It would be a long time, if ever, before he dropped his guard again. The tiny mechanism chirping under his pillow would assure him of that. Every ship in the galaxy had its own unique signature, a combination of energy pulses and discharges from her engines and slipsteam drive. If you knew the signature, you could track any ship in the universe. He had the advantage over DeGarres for now. He knew the signature of the Dark Sister like he knew Andromeda's or the Maru's. For now, he would know if DeGarres' vessel came within twenty light years of Andromeda. He shuddered, not wanting to think of the consequences when they encountered the Dark Sister again. 'No, Boss, it ain't a bomb. Not yet.' Closing his eyes Harper, knew that for now he was safe and could rest. For the first time in days quickly dropped into a drugless, and dreamless, sleep.   
  
END  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
